2020: 52 (Assessment)

Well, holy cow, I can’t believe this is my 52nd weekly blog entry of the year. I guess we had a leap year crammed in to this shit show known as 2020, since we technically have an extra weekend after this one. But screw it, I’ll use this as my year end wrap up, and take next week off to nurse my food hangover from the holiday, and stay hunkered down in my office, burning more negatives and cranking some Nick Cave on my CD player. If you are reading this, congratulations, you have survived this trial by virus, social upheaval, political division, and toilet paper hoarding. All kidding aside, we have survived, though many of us have felt losses, large and small. I am not trivializing any of it, mind you. It’s been hard, and it will most likely get harder, but every day we see light rising in the morning and there is hope in that.

Here is my list of thoughts, observations, shout outs, lumps of coal, and above all, gratitude.

Grateful for Zoom, especially since it allowed me to stay connected to my band of photo geeks every Tuesday night through the pandemic. A welcomed respite from the doom and gloom, and always supportive conversations around the creative process, self-publishing, and small brewer suggestions.

Improv. It makes my life better. It makes me a better person. It is fun. It is more than you’d expect. Try it, you might agree.

The new Fiona Apple album was played more than any other in my house. A stunner. Listen to it if you haven't already.

Destroyer and Fleet Foxes (probably) round out my top three for the year.

Hand binding a book was a new challenge, and I used the early days of the lockdown to get my Japan book ready for the world. A cathartic process from start to finish. Thank you Brian for helping along the path.

Photographic experimentation throughout the year kept the wolves at bay for me. 2020 was the year I fully embraced my love of film photography. Something I plan on continuing in the new year. I sing to the muse not to abandon me yet.

Thank you, Blurb and Magcloud. Print your damn work, people!

35mm film burns better than 120 or 4x5. Trust me.

Buy a bidet.

CDs sound better than Spotify. Vinyl is the best, though.

I miss the ocean.

I miss travel.

I love my wife. She’s my best friend. And she’s a bad ass.

I finally know how to make a good pizza dough from scratch.

New Jersey never felt further away from New Mexico than it did this year.

Typos are the bane of my existence.

Therapy and pharmaceuticals help.

Proud to have voted Trump out of office.

I still love the smell of Stop Bath.

There is an unending supply of trashy shows to stream on the internet. I’m looking at you “The Boys.”

“Mank” was overrated.

Godard is still alive.

Tony Bourdain is still dead.

I am a shark.

Thank you for being part of my life, every last one of you out there.

I am a closeted optimist.

Better days are coming.

2020:50 (Self-Destructive Tendencies)

Metaphors are all fine and good, but sometimes the direct meaning of words is more appropriate. This year has been one of destruction, in ways small and large. And I’ll ignore stepping on the soapbox sitting next to me, holding off on the socio-political banter for the time being. We all need a break at this point, don’t we? Instead, i’m taking time to look more deeply at my work and process over the past year. Apropos, since this is entry number 50 for the year… how the fuck are we a few weeks away from the new year? Anyone who’s read this blog with any regularity (I know there are at least two of you) would know that my work has taken some radical directions this year. I’ve devoted myself almost exclusively to film photography in 2020, but there have been some forays into digital as well. I’m not a Luddite, I’m not a purist, and I’m not a film fetishist (um, maybe I’m guilty on that last count.) Most people don’t give a fuck what tools you use to create your work. It’s the final images that matter. At the same time, I can’t neglect the fact that the majority of my work this year has been a shift away from the pristine, singular image. There are roots to this shift to be found in my work over the past few years, but I think it’s been during this pandemically enforced, navel gazing year that I have allowed myself the freedom to pursue these ideas in many different ways. Some of my self-publishing projects have already reflected this move towards using several images to create a feeling, to convey my thoughts, to capture the character of a particular location. To push myself further away from relying on clarity, sharpness and other signs of a perfectionist slant, I started using my old friend, the Lensbaby, bringing unpredictability and happenstance to my photos. The deep dive into film brought another variable and an invitation to surprise. Further down the rabbit hole, pinhole lenses on my big boy dslr allowed for unrestrained exploration of shapes, forms and, as always light. Plastic cameras, slow film, home developing, scanning and post-production in Lightroom, along with a secret combo of software led me to a point where I took an even more dramatic step. I burned, scratched, pieced and otherwise degraded my roles of film, at once destroying while creating. Why stop there? I found an old lens for a Canon AE-1, that I knew was not functioning properly. So first, I threw it on the ground. Kicked it into the dirt. Stepped on it. I took a hammer to the lens. It did not break completely. Kudos to 1970s glass and metal. it still fit on my digital camera, by means of an adapter. And it became the latest tool for me to explore and record, without any hope of perfection. Or at least perfection in the literal sense. Because some of the photos I’ve been creating feel closer to an ideal to me than anything I have tried to create with “perfect” light, “perfect” focus or “perfect” composition. I’m not going to belabor the oft-quoted Picasso again, but to say that my destructive tendencies have lead to a fertile run of creation for me this year, well that’s an understatement. The muse is still here, and she brings deeper, more satisfying art from deep down in the well. And while that water flows, I’ll raise a glass and drink it. And then I’ll smash the glass against the wall.

2020:39 (Heading Into The Unknown)

As artists, we channel the outer world through our deepest inner mind, and then spew it back out for everyone to see (ourselves included.) I’ve been feeling creatively “bi-polar” lately… and I don’t meant diminish that actual condition, but it seems the most accurate way to describe my process. I took a road trip a few weeks ago, and looking at my images from that short jaunt, I see a very consistent approach. They look like “my” images for sure, but they also possess a quiet, staid, almost banal kind of presence. Nothing outstandingly original here, but a set of competent images. Since then, the pendulum has swung in a completely opposite direction. I’ve been shooting pinhole images, on a panoramic Holga, and a 4 x 5 wooden box camera, and the photos look nothing like the road trip photos. There is clearly a connection with some of my other work, and subject matter is more of the familiar environmental work I’ve been producing in the bosque. But after processing the film in my kitchen sink, I’ve been taking a radical approach to “post-processing” the images. I’ve been abusing the film with fire, with knives, with dirt; abrasions, scratches, bubbles, melting plastic, ash and rock. I dived deeply into an experimental phase with this direction. I am not sure where it is coming from, and I’m not sure where it is heading. I’ve overdone the technique many times, and I’ve pulled myself back from the edge of complete destruction of the film and number of times. I’ve also been fighting the overthinking that come along with most of my creative endeavors. What does it all mean? Is it any good? Why? Who cares? Still, I feel this direction is coming from deep inside of me, and I do have some suspicions that it is a reaction to the world we live in… well that’s fucking obvious, isn’t it? Forests are burning, edges are fraying, patience is crumbling, fevers are rising, destruction on so many fronts. Institutions are failing, stability is out of our reach, what do I have any control over? So, I am surrendering to the fire, to the dirt, to the happenstance, to the unpredictability… to existence, I suppose.

2020:26 (Halfway Through)

I will not add too much to the chorus of voices who have waxed (poetically or not) on how shitty this year has been. Making these weekly posts has been mostly therapeutic for me, and lo and behold… we are at week 26 of the year. Halfway home? Halfway down? Are we halfway to the bottom or are we destined to rise up from this, the lowest depth?

Only time will tell.

I will listen to Bill Callahan or maybe Broken Social Scene and tap deep into my optimistic self, drinking from a glass that is half full.

p.s.

Someone from my distant past died this week. I hadn’t seen her in many years, but when I was a young boy, she was an important part of my life. I’ll hold the memory of a bashful kiss on the ferris wheel at the St. Mary’s carnival deep in my heart. Rest in peace, Linda.

2020: 1 (My First Camera)

Proust had his madeleine. I had a Pentax K1000. My first camera, when I was a freshman in high school. An all manual film camera. The small battery only supplied juice for a simple light meter. The needle would move as the shutter speed or aperture got changed. When the needle was in the middle of the + and -, it meant that the exposure was correct. Snap the shutter. A satisfying, mechanical “clunk.” Manually advance the film, with a slightly tensioned advance lever. Ready for the next picture. 24, maybe 36 exposures. Then, the wait. The film, manually rewound into it’s canister, needed to be developed. Black and white… I would do myself. Color needed to be dropped off at the pharmacy or supermarket that had a one-hour photo lab. Then, finally, the results. Did my shots come out at all? Did they look as I imagined they would? There was magic in every step of the process. That magic is still something I get from photography.

I don’t remember when I got rid of that old K1000, but I do remember I had upgraded to a Nikon FM2. I believed at the time that the Nikon made me a more “serious” photographer. That was many years ago. I have had many cameras since then, many different formats, both film and digital. But deep down inside, I always longed to hold a K1000 in my hands again. Yes, with the advent of Ebay, that desire could have been easily satisfied, for an inflated price, of course. I never could justify buying one in that manner, for whatever reason. So it was a great surprise, under a randomly unrelated premise, that I found myself inside a Savers thrift store this week. I always make a point of checking out the electronics section at thrift stores, though I never find anything of worth. I’ve heard stories of people stumbling upon a used Leica at a ridiculously low price, but I suspect those are tall tales shared on various user forums and YouTube videos. This week however, I found it… a model of my first camera. This particular K1000 was covered in dust, the lenses smudged, the meter didn’t work, and it was attached to a crappy old, knock off brand flash unit. Price tag: $12. The firm advance worked, and the shutter fired… sounding accurate to my ears. I paid the low price, figuring it would be worth it, even as a paperweight.

I took it home, cleaned it thoroughly. The lens was fine, no scratches. I went to Walgreens and bought a new battery, hoping that was the reason the meter was not operating. I popped the battery in AND IT WORKED! I went out immediately and shot off a test roll of film and dropped it off at the local lab. The next day, I picked up that roll and it was all properly exposed and the images looked great. I can hardly contain my joy about finally finding this camera and using one again after all these years. It feels like those first days of discovery, decades ago. Like sinking your teeth into a delicious cookie you only ate as a child, the sensory memories come flooding back. Well worth a 12 dollar investment.

2019:52 (Turning A Page)

At the beginning of 2019, I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish in the coming year. Most folks make resolutions, but I realized that that was too firm of a demand on my own accountability. The word “goals” was much more palatable for me, and though some goals went unrealized, I was able to reach a few on my list. One of my goals is being fully realized with the writing of this specific post. 

I wanted to post to my blog, once a week, every week, for the entire year. I do see the degree of absurdity in maintaining a blog of any sort in the last year of this crazy decade. I cut my internet teeth in decades past, and was consumed by the great blogging crazy of the mid-aughts. But as the years flew by, and I began to take my photographic work more seriously (which included creating this website about five years ago) I realized the value of having a repository for my thoughts here, as opposed to succumbing completely to the whims of the social media platforms I detest but can’t seem to ignore or abandon completely.

Speaking of social media… I keep coming close to deleting my Facebook account, but I realize that it is the only way I stay connected with a certain number of important people in my life. I also admit that I would not be as culturally, politically, or social aware of broad trends if I was not on the privacy and soul sucking entity that is Facebook. However, with the demise of the Latent Image Collective, I had one less excuse to jump on the platform. Still, out of boredom, mostly, I still find myself scrolling through the virtual lives of people that I only virtually know, peppering my feed with “likes” or “loves.” I don’t know what the value is, really. I convince myself that it is a necessary evil, and that I need to be on Facebook in order to bring my creative work to as wide an audience as possible, including those rare but appreciated folks who opened their wallets to financial support my books and exhibits this past year. But I still drift away and back again, and I suspect that at some point I may take the drastic step of having my wife change my password so I can’t log in every freaking day. I also continue to wrestle with Instagram, but somehow rationalize it’s use because it is a photo-based platform. But the chasing of ‘likes” gets so tiring after a while, and I need to be able to see the value in my own work without the need of constant, external validation, most of which means nothing more than catching the eye of a few dozen scrollers. Resolution of this issue is TBD.

One of the benefits of a weekly posting on my blog has been that I can remember where my brain was at different points in the year. It was a nice exercise in pondering my work, my interests, my travel, my book purchases, my book publishing, my exhibitions, my health, my successes, my failures, my moments of joy, my moments of pain and sadness. There’s been plenty of all of it. Such is life. It also gives me a sense of achievement to know I was able to keep up this challenge for a full year… though some weeks were a struggle to come up with something relevant to share. Other weeks I felt like I was sharing too much of myself, but I wanted to take this exercise seriously. And I wanted to be honest, truthful, earnest when I posted. I fear the world lacks this kind of revealing of one’s real thoughts and feelings. The perfectly curated life on social media is damaging to our collective psyche, and I hope that some of ramblings here have shown someone (anyone) else that it’s ok to share your thoughts in this manner. Which leads me to yet another question. Who actually reads these posts of mine? I do see that there has been an uptick in traffic to my website via this blog, but I have no idea who you are, what you think, or even why you came to this site to begin with. I am grateful for any attention given to my photos and my words, but this exercise is still a selfish one, and I think regardless of who sets their eyes on it, I must continue to try to find a way to express myself. This blog will most likely continue into 2020… I’m not sure if it will be weekly, I’m not sure if it will be a quasi-diary, or what else it might entail.

I am happy to have had the opportunity to show my photos in several exhibitions this year. I am especially proud of sharing the walls at UNM with my four compatriots from the Tuesday Night Photobook Nerds hangout that happens every week at the High and Dry Brewery. The friendship and support I get from these gatherings have sustained me through some rocky moments over the past twelve months. I was also very proud of the “River, Ocean, Sea” exhibition that I shared with Fabio and Hean Kuan in the late summer here in Albuquerque. It was a fitting swansong for my time in the Latent Image Collective, and it was a true manifestation of the collaborative spirit that brought the group together in the first place. Lastly, my year was bookended by having my photos shown in Naples, Italy, at the Magazzini Fotografici. It was a dream of mine to have my work shown internationally, and it was so satisfying to have that dream realized.

The year is ending, and so is the decade. There has been so much tumult in the world, I can only hope that sanity and love can overcome the wave after wave of pain, hatred, war, division and death that seems to be in abundance lately. I am also aware that the world will continue on its path regardless of my input or concern, but that will not prevent me from trying to bring goodness, joy, love and art into it. I’ve embraced the existential aspects of my personality with gusto this year. I’ve experienced moments of transcendence, and also moments of extreme darkness. But I also learned lessons that will carry me forward, to enlighten my path, and to inspire me to keep creating. While I breathe, there is hope. 

Thank you for spending time with me here over the past twelve months.

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2019: 49 (Observations)

I don’t know why, but it took me far too long to realize we are coming to the end of a decade. Ten years seems to have gone by so fast, as it does when you get older. Maybe when you’re younger, too? Once you slip from the bonds of the regimented seasonal / annual scheduling that school provides, and the ‘real world’ in all its shapes and forms throws you onto a treadmill… days, weeks, years seem to go by at a more rapid clip.

We’re at that time of year to reflect upon what has come, where we are, where we want to go. I’ve been dancing around these thoughts more deeply lately… I guess my existentialism is growing, fully developing into my modus operandi. I’ve been working on being present, feeling the here and now. The past is gone, the future is the future, all we have is now. All we ever have is now. Which feels at odds with my life as a photographer. I seize moments with our cameras, but what do they become? Tangible manifestations of past moments, memories caught in proverbial amber (or pixels, or grains of silver halide.) We gaze at our pasts through photos, equally as much as we do with actual memories. And what about the future? We plan, we prepare, we gird ourselves for an unknowable future, for me, with a camera in my hand. I plan trips to come. Locations to shoot. Projects to undertake and complete. Or not. Books to create. Photos to post. Website to update. Dreams to dream. Fantasies to entertain. Scenarios to imagine. Fears to avoid. Or face. Anxiety to dive deep into. Joys to find. Love to give, and to receive. What a mix we make in our minds. What a stew simmering in my own mind.

I know that over the next few weeks, when the holidays kick into overdrive, my melancholy will most likely shift to a more peaceful, middle ground, (a neutral gray) punctuated by moments of joy, of laughter. I know this to be true because even in my darkest moments, these gifts have somehow always arrived. Small bottles of hope that somehow wash up on the shore. This is a natural time of reflection, of course. A double whammy this year as we bid the “Teens” their farewell. 2020 is coming. The metaphor of perfect vision that looms on the horizon. What will I focus on? What will you? For me, this: It is today. It is now.